


By Moments

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AKA, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, You know how this goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: Their marks told them how long their soulmate had left to live, and Ignis’s was sinking ever lower.23 07 11 12 36 58





	By Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/gifts).



> Sooo my gift for seki/@stormew from the Ignoct Secret Santa and it wildly... wildly... got away from me. And it's angst. SE gives us a super amazing happy alternate timeline and I write angst. I'm sorry. I hope you like it anyway xD
> 
> Have a happy holidays! Think happy Ignoct thoughts!!

_Time is not measured by time, but by moments._

 

Ignis was barely six years old when he learned he was to be assigned to be chamberlain for prince Noctis. At six years old, he barely knew what a chamberlain was, except that it was a big word and it held importance. His uncle explained that it meant he was to take care of the young prince, to watch over him and guide him in the event that he needed it. It hadn’t meant much at the time, but even at his tender age of six years, he had known it was a serious job. Or maybe he had just realized Noctis was important, given by how much the king and the prince were spoken about in Insomnia.

His uncle was proud of Ignis for being able to take position in the Citadel, though. That had been enough for Ignis, who had only ever wanted to do the best for the people he loved. At the time, only his uncle’s opinion had mattered.

If he liked Noctis, it would be even better.

“You’re nervous.”

Ignis was looking at his hands, clasped tightly upon his kneecaps. He looked up as his uncle spoke, and didn’t let himself get distracted as the Citadel came into view. He nodded.

“Don’t be.” He smoothed a piece of Ignis’s hair away from his forehead. Ignis didn’t duck out of the way, although he wanted to. “The king and his son are good people. You will be happy with them, Ignis.”

He nodded again. He believed him. But… the Citadel was a big place, and he was six years old and not used to such extravagance. He was no one special. His eyes moved to the window, briefly, and then traveled back to his hands. They were easier to look at. Like the black numbers against his left wrist, seven sets, ever fluid, ever changing. He brushed his thumb over them, once, and again, a circular pattern against blemished skin. He could read the numbers, and he knew it was about his soulmate. Asides from that, uncle had told him he would learn more when he was older.

He had more important things to worry about, but the markings were familiar. Comforting.

_27 03 17 23 51 43_

The car pulled to a stop in front of the Citadel, and Ignis relinquished his wrist to take his uncle’s hand.

 

“Why’s mine different than yours?” Noctis pressed his fingers over the soulmate mark on Ignis’s wrist, and then looked back at his own, situated just below his right knee. “The numbers.”

Ignis sighed, reaching forward to pull the young prince’s pants leg down. The numbers were dark against his skin, darker than the ones on Ignis’s wrist. He knew that it was merely because it was winter, and the prince hadn’t been out to have any sun, but he looked even more pale than usual and it made the timer stand out more on his skin.

He situated the cuff on Noctis’s pants. “Because _we’re_ different, Highness.”

“Dad says it’s something about my soulmate, but he won’t tell me what.” He was pouting, but Ignis wasn’t about to give in to the puppy dog eyes and downturned lips.

He himself had only been told recently, the complete truth behind the marks on any given person, the one on his wrist he was so often mesmerized with himself. He was a little older now. Old enough to understand the concept of the finality that came with death.

A morbid thing, for someone under the age of ten.

He had understood the concept even before, although he had never completely understood. He wasn’t sure if he did now. Death was irreversible, and that person was gone forever. He had witnessed an assassination attempt on King Regis’s life, once, when he had been younger. The nannies had tried to shield him and Noctis from taking in the bloodshed, but Ignis was taller than the young prince. He had seen enough. Enough to know that death meant not coming back, not ever, and their marks all had to do with it.

Their marks told them how long their soulmate had left to live, and Ignis’s was sinking ever lower.

_23 07 11 12 36 58_

Whoever his soulmate was, wherever his soulmate was, that person had twenty-three years, seven months, eleven days, twelve hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifty-eight… fifty-seven… fifty-six– seconds left to live.

He didn’t quite understand yet, why everyone looked so sad when they saw his numbers. There was a large difference between say, his and Noctis’s, however. Twenty-three and fifty-three. It didn’t quite compute. He would understand when he was older.

He relayed the same message to Noct, but the young prince was unhappy not to know now. His eyes lingered on Ignis’s exposed wrist, and Ignis sighed again. He just wished he knew who it was supposed to be.

 

_22 08 17 12 18 42_

Ignis was watching the numbers as he tried to fall back asleep, tangled in the blankets and overtired. The prince had gone out on a day trip today. He hadn’t been invited. It was disappointing, but he understood that there were places the prince went that he could not, but… he was used to being around him. A whole day without endless questions or at least one go at having his glasses stolen and worn by the prince himself was… strange.

It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

Ignis yawned, tucking his face into the pillows. He was just looking forward to seeing the prince again tomorrow.

_22 08 17 12 18 42_

He expected to be told what he had missed out on, all of the boredom or excitement if there had been any to be had. And then they would have their own kind of excitement, he imagined, if the prince still had boundless energy refueled after a night of sleep.

Noctis should already be home in bed, at this point. Ignis pretended he was curled up in the prince’s luxurious bed instead of his own, which as fine by itself except it lacked a certain small, clinging creature he called his best friend. He really was his best friend.

_22 08 17 12 18 42_

Wait.

Ignis lifted his wrist, squinting at the numbers in the dark. His eyesight was less than perfect, but he thought… hadn’t it said that moments ago? He watched carefully, but the numbers had stopped. He shook his wrist experimentally. There was no change.

He sat up quickly, pressing his fingers against the timer. And then grabbing his blankets and throwing them off, going to pad barefoot for the door. The numbers weren’t down to zero. His person had twenty-two years. Why had it stopped? His uncle had never told him about this before.

There was a nanny outside of his room at any given time. He opened the door to ask her to find his uncle, and accepted her hand as she led him down to the kitchens to have a glass of hot milk while they waited.

He was barely halfway through it, numbers still frozen on his wrist, when there was commotion in the hallway. Ever the curious child, even in the throes of his own crisis– was that the word?– Ignis scooted from the barstool to go peek into the hall.

“Where is Master Clarus?! And Master Scientia?” someone was saying. He sounded upset. “There’s been… an accident.” As though prompted by the feel of someone’s eyes on him, the messenger looked over and frowned slightly at Ignis. “Quickly,” he murmured, as he turned away.

Ignis didn’t know why, but his left hand shook. He very nearly dropped his glass.

The timer on his wrist continued. He wondered if he had imagined that it had stopped. It was suddenly less important, in the face of Noctis having been gravely injured. He was too distraught, later, to notice the long, thoughtful look that his uncle gave him and his soulmate mark.

He wouldn’t have understood anyway.

 

By age sixteen, he was starting to worry.

The downfall of soulmate marks was that they gave absolutely no indication as to whom your soulmate actually _was._ You could go your whole life without meeting them, watching their life tick away, helpless. The older that Ignis got, the more he started to realize just how much he hated the concept of such a thing; it was functional, but, in the end, useless. There was no telling who your soulmate was, even if you were in a committed relationship. A lover wasn’t necessarily a soulmate, and a soulmate wasn’t necessarily a lover. Therefore, there was no _real_ answer, and Ignis hated the uncertainty.

There was no real _point_ to finding your soulmate, either. And, he was beginning to think, privately, why would you want to? To look at their mark and see how much time you had left? No, thank you. He would rather not know. That wasn’t how life and death worked.

And yet…

_16 07 21 11 11 04_

He couldn’t stop the death of his soulmate. He still worried about them nonetheless. He wondered if they were happy, now, wherever they were, if they were living their life to its fullest.

“Specs.”

His attention returned to the prince; Ignis looked up, and found Noctis sitting on the edge of the quad chair, reel in his lap and a messy, unwound pile of line next to it. Ignis sat up straight; when had he managed to do that?

“Help,” Noctis said pathetically. The line caught his jacket and the reel went tumbling off his lap.

Ignis jerked forward to catch it before it could bounce off of the dock. Noctis’s eyes followed the movement, and then fell on Ignis’s wrist, instinctive, a reflex, ink black against tanned skin. Then he heaved a sigh of frustration, blowing dark bangs out of his face, and Ignis smiled.

“However did you manage that, Highness?” he asked. “Let us see what we can do.”

 

_15 10 30 06 11 01_

Noctis kissed him for the first time.

In actuality, _Ignis_ kissed _Noctis_. It went somewhat against his better judgement, at first, hands clenched into clammy fists at his side. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was Noctis’s, and Noctis was the prince. It was _improper_. He could lose his job, lose Noct, and he never wanted to do that.

But Noctis, innocent, _careful_ Noctis, taking heed not to become too close to anyone in the case that it was merely for association to the throne than real want for being a friend, had asked him to teach him how to kiss, and Ignis hadn’t been able to deny him. He was safe, after all. He would never use Noctis’s name and title against him.

Noctis kissed him, and Ignis felt like he might have been learning a fair bit about kissing, right along with the young prince.

It was inexperienced, and messy. Ignis had only kissed two women before this, and the fact that he was kissing the prince of Lucis would have thrown him off on the very best day. But then it changed, and Ignis swept a hand up along the prince’s boyish face, thumb brushing alongside a cheekbone in a motion he’d read about in his books.

Kissing wasn’t new; intimacy was. It had been his own experimentation before. But now he believed he needed to afford the prince the very best, and very gently stroked at his skin, and his hair, and kissed him slowly, and softly, and sacredly. Like he was his whole world’s very treasure, and Ignis realized with a thrum of warmth trickling through his veins, he was. He really was.

Noctis’s hands hesitated against his chest, the barest space between his skin and Ignis’s waistcoat. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” Ignis breathed, and Noctis’s hands were like fire over the thin layers of fabric, tentative and light, but burning all the same. He felt something alight in his veins that he hadn’t before; he swept a hand into Noctis’s hair and let himself curl around him nearly protectively.

The prince looked dazed when Ignis forced him to pull back. “That was… that was…”

Ignis wiped a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth, and hoped he didn’t look as flush as he felt. “Satisfactory, I hope?”

Noctis made a noise, a strangled sounding laugh, and caught Ignis’s hand when he began to step away. Ignis watched expressionlessly as he tangled their fingers together. “I think that was better than satisfactory, damn.”

“Yes. Well.” He fiddled with the frames of his glasses with the hand that wasn’t sweaty in Noctis’s. _Why_ was he holding his hand? “I’m glad.”

The laugh was more fluid, then. Like water flowing over the rocks in the small fish ponds they had marveled at as children, the ones tucked away in the Citadel’s garden that they had snuck out to watch when they were meant to be in bed. “Yeah, me too, kinda. So, uh, thanks. Do you think we might be able to, um…”

Ignis had been looking towards him, but as Noctis’s voice trailed off, he reminded himself to look _at_ him. The prince’s attention had been arrested by the ticking timer, just peeking out beneath the edge of Ignis’s glove.

“… sorry, they still distract me.” His eyes lingered on it for a moment longer, and then they swept back up to Ignis. “You really think we all have soulmates?”

Ignis wondered if all of this talk about practicing kissing and soulmates meant something. If Noctis did have his eye on someone, they would need to be careful to make certain of intentions, as he’d thought before. Or perhaps he was merely thinking of reuniting with Lady Lunafreya.

“I do, yes,” he replied.

“That _sucks_ , though, how are you ever supposed to find them?” He dropped Ignis’s hand, and Ignis watched as he ran his fingers back through his hair instead. “I mean, ‘ve got Luna, but… for you guys. That sucks.”

He looked away from the prince’s hand still mussing up his hair. “It’s frustrating,” he said, and smoothed his hands down his waistcoat.

“And your soulmate doesn’t have so long,” Noctis said. “Right…?”

“So it seems,” he said softly, and fixed his gloves. The soulmate mark was hidden away, as it usually was.

“That sucks,” Noct repeated. “‘m sorry.”

He smiled tightly. “Me too.”

 

He was eighteen when he started to have an inkling.

Just that, a notion, anxiety prickling along his skin. Something he didn’t want to think about, certain he was wrong, but also something that… felt like it could be intrinsically true, even without real cause.

Noctis was curled up at the foot of Ignis’s bed as he waited for Ignis to finish his school work. On a second glance, Ignis realized that the boy had fallen asleep. He put his pencil down, and leaned back in the chair.

Ignis had been with the prince since they had both been young. He had watched him grow up, watched him grow into the man he was quickly becoming. He might protest his impending ascension to the throne, be it from typical teenage disinterest or what Ignis suspected might actually be fear, but regardless? He truly had grown up.

So had he, he supposed. He was two years off from his own coming of age, even though it would hold no significance compared to Noctis’s. He would, of course, swear his vows and his life to the king once he had, but he had done that years ago. Things had never changed, and Ignis suspected that they never would.

Noctis had become his life. He had willingly and gratefully accepted Noctis into that title. He… barely knew anything asides him, and he had no desire to. Only Noct, in every sense of want and companionship, duty and desire. And that… suddenly, that was frightening. No, it was _terrifying_ , because come what may he wanted nothing to change. He would remain by his side. He bettered himself for the prince. He wanted his happiness of any, _every_ kind.

He’d heard various descriptions of the word _soulmate_ , but suddenly they all seemed to hit too close, and that struck absolute _terror_ into him.

_14 04 17 00 57 04_

He had to be wrong. There was no reason to expect Noctis was anything more to him than merely the prince of Lucis. His friend, but also his profession. There was absolutely no reason to believe that Noctis could be his soulmate. Absolutely no reason at all.

 

“I swear my life to the kings of Lucis, and all that will follow. That I will offer my hands and heart, soul and sword to protect, guide, and offer assistance in any way the king sees fit. I swear to do whatever it takes to uphold the values of our sacred Crownsguard.”

The press of the sword was gentle against his shoulders, but it felt like the weight of the world.

“Rise, Ignis Scientia. Son of Crownsguard.”

Ignis stood.

Behind the king stood Noctis, dressed in fatigues and looking back at him with an unreadable expression. It was schooled. This room called for it, pride and propriety. Ignis lifted his chin, and Noctis nodded slightly, and that was all.

But that was only for the throne room; the heavy wooden doors were closed behind him and he sighed, shoulders sagging. He hadn’t been able to show it, but the nerves had been running rampant the past day or so. It wasn’t every day that you got inducted into Crownsguard.

“Lookin’ good, Iggy!” Prompto and Gladio were waiting in the lobby. The blonde converged on him, camera held aloft in hand as he snapped the first of what would be countless photos.

Gladio may have rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “‘bout damn time.”

“Apologies that I couldn’t age faster,” Ignis joked, and it felt _good_ to joke. In theory, he recognized he had had no reason to be nervous. But all the same.

“Welcome to the big leagues.”

“Man, I’m jealous,” Prompto said. He was leaning forward, eyeing Ignis’s trousers. “I like the outfit.” He pointed at the skull and crossbones at the pocket. “You made a good choice!”

“There’s one on the back,” he said. He would no doubt be coaxed out of his jacket later so that Prompto could marvel at the motif on the back of his shirt for that comment. He didn’t mind. He had it on good authority that they were going out for drinks later. _Non-_ alcoholic for Prompto and Noctis, as it were, but it would be a good night. “It matches the collar.” He ran his fingers along his shirt collar, smoothing it down.

“Oh, _awesome_. I can’t wait to get mine. Wonder what I should get…”

“Uh, you’ve got two years yet,” Gladio retorted. “Chill.”

“I _am_ chill!”

Ignis quirked a smile. He ran his hand down his uniform. It really was worth so much more than he could hope to express. It was so much more than an outfit. He pressed his hand down the pleats and then fixed his gloves.

_12 11 19 07 12 03_

He ignored the ever changing numbers.

“No more chance for insubordination, huh?” a voice said from behind, and then Noctis plucked at the lapel of his jacket. “You’re stuck with me for life, Specs.”

“A terrifying prospect.” The words slipped out unconsciously, but Noctis laughed before Ignis could begin to worry about suddenly being out of line. Nevermind that it wasn’t a terrifying prospect at all.

Noct leaned in, stretching up to kiss him on the lips.

Ignis nearly protested– they were still in the Citadel, and there were people near– and then didn’t.

Noctis’s hand curled loosely around his left wrist, and Ignis kissed him harder, for another moment longer.

 

_12 10 29 01 29 02_

“It’s so _morbid_ , isn’t it?” Noct was mouthing along the inky numbering along his wrist. “Knowing someone’s gonna die. Knowing exactly _when.”_

It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have at present. The expanse of Noctis’s bare skin against his, the prince curled into his chest and refusing to leave for the night after this latest tryst. Ignis’s back was still prickling with sweat. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, ever, but much less when his skin was also still prickling with something akin to guilt.

Sleeping with the prince of Lucis had never been his intention. Profession had given way to experimentation, had given way to feelings on Ignis’s behalf. As for Noctis? He didn’t know. They weren’t in a relationship. They couldn’t be. So it was kissing practice and casual touching and giving in to Noctis’s curiosities about sex when he had reached age of consent. And Ignis liked it. Oh Gods, did he like it.

He swallowed. “You’re giving it plenty of attention, for being so morbid.”

Laughter against skin. “They still distract me.” Teeth scraped over the numbers, and then Noct lifted his head. “Twelve years, though. At least Luna’s gonna have a long life.” His knee nudged against Ignis’s bare leg. “It’s, like, forty-two now?”

Ignis could seek the numbers on Noctis’s body, peeking out just beneath the haphazard blankets. “Yes.”

“That’s good.” The prince settled heavily over Ignis’s torso, and nestled his face into his neck. “Good enough, I guess. Hopefully it’s a good one.” He yawned, smoothing a hand down Ignis’s chest. “Think your soulmate’s happy, too?”

Both of Ignis’s hands seized around Noctis’s warm, pliable body. “I hope so,” he murmured, and turned his face into Noctis’s hair.

 

Ignis was nearly twenty-two when Noctis said ‘I love you’.

He very nearly dropped the shopping. As it were, he stiffened beneath Noctis’s embrace, felt his heart throb beneath where Noctis’s hands were clutched over his chest.

“I know you hate it,” Noctis muttered. His face was buried between Ignis’s shoulder blades. His voice was muffled by the back of his coat. “But I do. We’re getting ready to go off on this journey, so…”

Ignis closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he was grateful that Noctis had caught him from behind, or if he wanted to see his face. “Noct…”

“Just… covering the bases. You know. Don’t know about… afterwards. After the wedding,” Noctis murmured, arms tightening around him. “Wanted you to know that I do. Love you, I mean.”

He ought to object to this conversation; the subject matter was wholly inappropriate, just like any and all of their time spent alone, tangled together, mouths insistent and bodies hot. But he couldn’t. Just as he never could.

Drawing in a breath, he opened his eyes again. “Lady Lunafreya will make a wonderful bride.”

“Yeah, no, I know, I don’t… doubt that or anything. I love her, too, it’s just… it’s complicated.” A sigh was heaved against his coat. “I don’t really know when things changed, when I actually… we actually… God, this went better in my head.” Noctis’s weight disappeared from his body. “It stopped being for fun a long time ago, I guess. So, uh, yeah. I’m gonna… oh, I just remembered I’ve got to call home. Something about packing. Which, don’t remind me, I know I should be doing.” He was already halfway across the room before Ignis could collect himself enough to turn around.

“Noct.”

The prince looked towards him. But not at him, Ignis noted. “Yeah…?”

He breathed in again. Forcing himself to take oxygen into his lungs and feel them expand helped to clear his mind. He counted to three, and spoke. “I have never hated it.”

Only then the prince looked up, away from that invisible point just beyond Ignis’s left shoulder. Blue eyes fell onto his, swarming, swimming, _questioning_. Perhaps tentatively hopeful. Perhaps, even, surprised.

“I could never hate it,” Ignis continued quietly. “It would make me quite the hypocrite.”

It was as far as he could go; Noctis’s strength to find the words and to speak them was commendable, but Ignis could not. Explicitly stating it was out of the question. It would make it real. Concrete. There were lines that he personally could not cross, even now, even as he implicitly admitted that he had been in love with Noctis for some time, as well.

Ludicrous. But those words, three small, simple words, weighed far too much and Ignis felt he was liable to snap under the strain if he spoke the truth just then.

Noctis’s eyes had indeed widened, but his expression had then softened. A small smile pulled at his lips. “Too bad you weren’t my soulmate, Specs. Maybe we could’ve figured it out a long time ago.”

Then he was moving on, leaving Ignis standing, two bagfuls of vegetables and meat for dinner’s stew, in his hands. Still in the doorway. Still in his coat. Soaring and in agony simultaneously.

He had to put the bags down so that he didn’t drop them. And he had to brace his hands against the cabinet so that they didn't shake. Yes. He loved the prince of Lucis. But dear _Gods above_ , he prayed to the Six that he wasn’t his soulmate.

_11 06 12 09 19 52_

 

When he saw the vision, there were ten years left on his wrist. Ten years and some change, months and hours and seconds, and the image of Noctis dying burning into his eyes and his head and his heart.

It was too much to be coincidence. He had known, for _years_ , he had known… he had guessed… He had seen Noctis, looking roughly thirty years of age, dying upon the throne to save them all. His duty, to dispel the scourge from their star. Destiny, to die. Death in ten years.

Ignis had put the Ring of the Lucii on without pause, desperate, willing to do anything if it meant granting Noctis more time.

He touched the scar along his eye, and stared unseeingly into the bathroom mirror.

He had been foolish.

His hand dropped to his wrist. Fingers absentmindedly sought out the mark there, fingertips passing over skin, unable to feel. As if the timer could be changed for the better. He had been _so_ foolish.

He would do it all again.

Ignis dropped his hand, and felt to pick up his glasses. He couldn’t see Noctis’s life ticking away before his eyes, and still he knew. He was the only one who knew.

Ten years.

_(10 04 15 03 12 06)_

 

“She never was my soulmate.”

Ignis barely heard him over the transcript he was listening to. But he caught Noctis’s voice, if not his words, in a lull in the level of volume, and he felt for the button to pause the recording and slide the headset down to his neck. “Pardon?” He looked around at the prince on reflex.

Noctis shifted. Ignis could hear the old mattress creaking under his weight. “L–Luna… she wasn’t my soulmate. My mark. It’s still active.”

Ignis’s hands hesitated on the desk. He had known this would come up, sooner or later. Assuming that Noctis’s mark was still active, and of course it was. Lunafreya had passed on weeks ago. And he knew for a fact that Noctis’s timer had had more time. “It’s… around forty now, is it not?”

“Yeah.” He still sounded numb about it.

All of these weeks later, Ignis couldn’t bring himself to say anything, to speak up about anything that had transpired in Altissia or what he had been shown. He was determined to find a way, to do _something_ , anything. He would sacrifice it all.

Unwise, knowing that it would make Noct hurt worse. But better he grieve than die. Ignis would stand by that until he drew his last breath.

“Forty years, so it isn’t… it wasn’t her. It can’t have been.” The mattress, squeaking again. Weight shifting. A sigh, breathing, living.

His fingers curled into a fist on the desktop. And then he made himself relax, splaying his hand out across the worn surface.

“You know it has to be you,” Noctis blurted, and Ignis’s head jerked up again. “It has to be you.”

“Noct…”

“There’s no one else it could be, I mean, I’m not… there’s only two people in my life, her, and you, and she’s _gone_. _You’re_ still here, so this timer, it has to be–”

“Noct,” he interrupted, but the prince pushed onward.

“I’ve loved you for _ages_ , so– so, it’s been you the whole time. It has to have been. Forty years… forty years, Ignis, and if you’re my soulmate, what if _I’m_ _yours_ –”

He couldn’t let this go any further. “Noctis.” Ignis pushed himself up, taking the practiced steps over to the bed. His knees still bumped the mattress. He nearly pitched forward, reaching to take Noctis’s shoulder beneath his hand. “Please. You’re making assumptions.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?!”

“I am not your soulmate.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?!”

“Noct,” he tried, forcing his voice into something resembling a soothing tone. “Please stop yelling.”

“No!” Noctis’s hand grabbed at Ignis’s, wrenching it forward. Fingers fumbling at the cuff of his gloves. Ignis tried to pull his hand back, and Noctis held firm. “No, _ten_ years!” He tugged the glove free, tossing it aside. “That’s what yours says. Ten years, three months, thirteen days! If I’m– if I’m–”

“You’re not,” Ignis said sharply. “I wouldn’t allow it.” _I won’t allow it,_ was what he doesn’t say. “Noct, you know that being in love doesn't necessarily signify soulmates. Your soulmate could be anyone.”

“It could be you!”

A thought he’d had, in the past few weeks. The vision had solidified his opinion of his own soulmate, but since Lunafreya had turned out to have not been Noctis’s… but that was, perhaps, wishful thinking.

Funny, so in love with the prince of Lucis, willingly arguing that he wasn’t his soulmate.

“Noct,” he repeated. “You are fine. Our time has not come, nor will it so soon. You will find your soulmate, as will I. We both have plenty of time.”

“I thought _Luna_ had plenty of time…” He was faltering. Ignis could hear it in his voice. “I just…”

“You’re fine,” Ignis repeated. “It’s been a long few weeks, Noct. Please.” The words tasted vile on his tongue. Pictures flashed through his head. Noctis dying on the throne. “Trust me.”

“… Fine.”

Ignis withdrew his hand.

“Sorry…”

“No apologies necessary.” He smiled, a master of deception. “You should rest. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, I guess… yeah. Thanks.” Noctis shifted. So did the mattress.

Ignis stepped back, and returned to the desk as the prince apparently settled himself beneath the blankets with no complaints. “That’s not necessary, either.”

_(10 03 13 23 52 09)_

After some time, Noctis spoke again. Ignis startled. He hadn’t yet gone back to his transcript, but he had thought Noctis had already fallen asleep.

“Would you being my soulmate be so bad…?” he mumbled.

Gods. “No,” he said softly, closing his eyes.

_That isn’t the problem at all._

 

He could feel the thrum of the Crystal at his side.

Noctis was gone.

No. No. _No._ This wasn’t supposed to _happen_ yet.

(If not now, then _when?_ his mind asked. He ignored it. He had _ten years_. He was supposed to have ten more years. Surely they could have figured out a solution in ten years. He hadn’t… he had not been willing to accept that it would happen so soon.)

“I’m afraid… you’re too late,” Ardyn said, as he walked away. “Your precious prince has gone away.”

He was staring towards the Crystal, unseeing, and there was something like true terror in his veins. Ten years. The Noctis he had watched die had been older. He _should_ have had that time, he should have…

He wrenched his sleeve up. “What does this say?” he asked, anguish choking his throat. His voice came out breathless.

“What?”

He pulled his gloves off. “What does this say?” he repeated, offering his mark to Gladio. "Exactly. What does it say.”

“Uhh… ten years, one month, thirty days?”

“And it’s still ticking?”

“Yeah? Is now really the…” Ignis looked back at the Crystal, that hand clenching into a fist. Gladio trailed off. “… _oh_.”

“What??” Prompto asked. “What is– wait… _wait_. Iggy…? Is Noct…? Is he your–”

“I had assumed,” Ignis said, and the words came out clipped. There had been no doubt in his mind. There still wasn’t. But Noctis was gone, and his mark was still active.

Gladiolus broke the silence. “That just means he’s still alive. Right. He went in there, he’s still alive. He’ll be back.”

Ignis was breathing hard. He didn’t notice until he heard a noise, and realized it was himself. Focus. He forced upon himself a long, slow breath of oxygen, and then turned to face his companions. Breathe. “Right. He’ll be back.”

He had to be.

_(10 01 30 03 28 03)_

 

If he erred on the side of caution, and assumed that _he_ was Noctis’s soulmate as well, despite having pointedly convinced him that he wasn’t, Ignis had approximately thirty-nine years left. Thirty-nine years to Noctis’s nine, already a year gone by and Ignis hadn’t been able to find out a way to save their king.

Theoretically, he knew, that being by the designs of gods and kings, things he could never begin to fully understand, that Noctis would only be reunited with them when the preparation was finished. _Reflection_ , as it had been called in his vision. As unhappy as that made him, that wasn’t just the issue.

Nine years continued to be the issue. How could it be _nine years?_

Surely the gods wouldn’t keep him for nine years.

In the meantime, Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio were all doing what they could to prepare for his return.

And, in the meantime of that, Ignis counted the days.

_(08 11 04 12 41 53)_

 

He never thought he would miss being eighteen. At twenty-eight, Ignis found that he did. Wishing he could go back to being young and uncertain, anxious over the thought of the prince being his soulmate instead of being anxious over

_(04 04 18 09 28 27)_

Six years. Six years of infinite night, six years of wondering and worrying. Six years of missing him.

Four years left.

Ignis wished he could go back to being six years old, uncertain as he met Noctis the first time, of placating him and caring for him. Wishing he could go back to being sixteen and hating the idea of soulmates. Fishing. That first kiss. Induction to Crownsguard. Noctis’s mouth against his skin. That _I love you_. That first and last _I love you._

He had never said it. He wondered if Noctis had known.

Four years.

 

_(00 01 11 04 23 45)_

Ignis tried to forget about the mark. Not for the first time, he wished he had taken a leaf from Gladiolus’s booklet; when the man had become part of the shield, his tattoo had gone directly over his own soulmate mark. _“No time to dwell on it,”_ he had said. It was still there, of course, visible at the right angle, but now Ignis could admit there would have been a lot less heartbreak to be had if he hadn’t known his own.

He tried to forget, and couldn’t. How _could_ he?

Every day it was the first thing in his head. One month, thirteen days. One month, twelve days. One month, eleven days– In trying to let himself forget, he ended up dwelling even more. Reverse psychology.

What if they never saw him again.

No. He believed that, even now, Noct would come back. He had to believe it. The night was still ongoing, and Noct was the only one who could dispel it. He would be back. He would.

 

_(00 00 07 12 32 21)_

The gods wouldn’t keep him until the last day. They wouldn’t keep him to the very last moment, would they?

They would, Ignis realized. They were not merciful.

They would.

 

_(00 00 01 23 54 38)_

His phone rang. He answered it on the second ring. He’d been waiting. Hoping.

“Hello?”

_“Talcott’s got him– Iggy, he's back.”_

“I’m on my way.”

 

_(00 00 01 21 45 10)_

“Well, well.”

It had been too long.

It was a curious sensation, being excited and terrified in turns. He knew time was almost up. And yet… and yet…

Noctis was _here._

It felt like his body was buzzing, vibration beneath the skin. He didn’t let it show on his face, or in his voice when he spoke. “You kept us waiting.”

Noctis’s hand was burning hot against his shoulder. Ignis wanted to pull him into his arms like they were still twenty and twenty-two, and not let him go. He did not.

“Not like I had a choice,” Noct replied, and squeezed his shoulder. His voice was fond. And… something else. Ignis couldn’t place it. He wasn’t certain it mattered.

Noctis was _home._

 

_(00 00 01 11 24 51)_

“You lied to me.”

Ignis felt for the napkin, and set his bottle down on top of it. “About what?” He couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t certain what they were talking about, and, to protect the prince during their sixteen shared years, he had most certainly lied about things. Even if they were only lies of omission.

Noctis reached out, the displacement of air brushing his skin. Then his fingers pressed gently against the old scar on Ignis’s face.

Ignis only stiffened for a moment. Of course Noctis would know, now. All of his secrets revealed.

Without saying anything, Noctis’s hand retracted, and then his fingers curled around Ignis’s wrist, his left wrist, and the pads of smooth fingers swept over Ignis’s mark.

… all of his secrets revealed.

“I had my suspicions,” he admitted, and shifted his hand up an inch to take Noctis’s.

“You convinced me otherwise.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well tell you.”

Fingers intertwined. “You should have.”

“Perhaps.” There was no use regretting it now. Or not regretting it. Ignis had known Noctis had ten years left to live. _Noctis_ need not have known. Or perhaps he should have. Like he said. No use regretting it now. “I couldn’t be certain it was you.”

“You _knew_ it was me,” Noct retorted, voice light. Playful. It was almost petulant. _Who else would it be, if not me, Specs?_

Ignis grinned, spurred on by the look that was sure to be on Noctis’s face, and something chasing desperation deep in his veins. “Perhaps not. How was I to know?”

“God, it’s good to see you haven’t lost your sarcastic wit.”

Noctis was leaning closer. He could feel his presence. “Ten years cannot change _all_ , Highness.” He stopped, and then corrected himself. “Majesty.”

Noctis’s hands framed his face. Ignis leaned into the touch. “Majesty,” the king repeated. “That’s got a good ring to it.”

Ignis still, however, raised his eyebrows, as though in question. “Do you think?”

“I do.” Closer still.

“So do I.” He surged through the remaining distance to kiss him.

It had been ten years. He thought he was permitted making the first move. Time, after all, was no longer on their side.

 

_(00 00 01 04 14 34)_

“I knew you’d wait for me.”

“Of course we would.”

The camper was dark, bereft of warmth, lacking the home commodities that it once had. But it had provided a bed, a soft place to land after ten years of the hardest times, and Noctis’s arms around him provided all the warmth he needed. It wasn’t romantic in the least, and it was yet the most romantic moment Ignis thought he had experienced in his whole life.

Also the most bittersweet, but he refused to let the emotion choke him now.

Later. Later. It had waited this long. It could wait longer.

“‘til the end of time, even.”

Ignis shrugged, very faintly. So soon. He didn’t want the reminder.

Noctis’s body was still coated in a dusting of grime and a sheen of sweat. Ignis held him closer anyway, even as his own heart was struggling to fall back to normal rhythm itself. He was still out of breath. Maybe it was choking him already, after all.

_Later._

Noctis slung a knee over Ignis’s. “At least you have more time,” he murmured, resting his head on Ignis’s chest. “That makes me happy.”

“I’d give it up for you.”

“That _doesn’t_ make me happy.”

Ignis chose to hold his tongue. They both knew it was true. He would let the world burn for him. Complacency was hell. But somewhere, along the way, he had missed his chance. He had failed in his duty to protect him.

Noctis smoothed a hand along his arm, and then tangled their fingers together. “I’m happy, Iggy. You need to be happy, too.”

It wouldn’t be so simple.

Still, Ignis smiled. He was happy enough right now. Dawn would bring a compromised emotional state for certain, but at least his king wouldn’t be there to witness his collapse.

“An order from the king?” he teased, and he felt Noctis grin against his skin.

“Yeah. Just that.”

 

_(00 00 00 13 24 52)_

“Home, sweet home.”

“Yeah, at long last.”

“What we’ve been waiting for.”

“Sure is.”

“Next stop, the Citadel.”

Gladio and Prompto stepped forward, the metallic noise of their weapons being summoned. There were enemies up ahead. Ignis could hear them. He still lingered for a moment, Noctis’s warmth at his side.

They both knew. They all knew.

“Come on, Specs.” Noctis’s hand brushed against his. “We got work to do.”

“… Right.”

 

_(00 00 00 03 24 19)_

Battles. Injuries. Snatches of sleep in the abandoned subway stations. The press of Noctis’s weight, asleep, quietly snoring at his side. The click of a shutter on an old familiar camera– memories to hold, later, Prompto whispered. Forlorn. No tears. That had been in the hours prior, when he and Noctis had forgone their camper to join the other two in one last camping excursion.

Jokes. Gladio’s girlfriend. The bruises Noctis’s mouth had put on Ignis’s neck. Prompto dramatically lamenting his own lack of love life. And then tears. Realizations. The truth. _Goodbye._

There were no tears now, clutching at Noctis’s sleeping body and trying in vain not to drift off himself. It was an odd, twisted sense of hope, but there _was_ hope. For the future. Being happy, as Noctis had asked. Honoring the sacrifice.

It hurt like hell, but they were all together. For now. That was more than Ignis had begun to expect they would ever have again.

Noctis shifted, stretched, yawned into Ignis’s face like the uncouth soulmate he was. Ignis stifled a smile, and looked down at him.

“Time to go?” Noct mumbled, voice thick, squinting at him through the flickering light.

He swept his hand through his hair. Long and tangled and beautiful. “Not just yet,” he said, and Noctis settled back against his chest.

 

_(00 00 00 00 27 29)_

“Prompto. Gladio. Ignis. I leave it to you.”

They must only have minutes. They must only have _minutes._

“Walk tall… my friends.”

What did you say when your soulmate’s time had come? What did you say when the man you loved’s time had come? Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing could convey all of things they had said, or done, the things they never would. It was a good thing words had never truly been necessary, in their relationship.

He would find some, however. “Godspeed.” For the moment. “And take care.” If only to break the silence. They had already wished him well. They had already shared their final kiss, lingering outside of the gates to the Citadel, Noctis’s hands gentle against his face and Ignis’s heart heavy with both love and grief. “Majesty.”

He imagined he felt Noctis’s eyes linger on him. Or maybe he didn’t imagine it at all, and his king was inspecting him as much as Ignis suddenly wished he could inspect him. To look at him one last time. Take in every detail. But he already had him memorized. He already knew what kind of king he had become.

“The time has come.”

So it had.

 

_(00 00 00 00 00 00)_

The invisible connection between them alerted him first. It wasn’t as though the soulmate bond had ever had any particular feeling to it; he hadn’t looked at Noctis when he was six years old and had his world burst into color. He hadn’t looked at him and thought, _yes. this is the one._ But even as he fought, slamming a dagger into one daemon and tossing the other into another, there was a moment of disconnect. A strange feeling. If he hadn’t known it was coming, he wouldn’t have even noticed. Ice into his veins, his heart. He tried to summon his blade back and it wouldn’t come. The thrum of the armiger had gone.

“Iggy, heads up!”

He pushed himself out of the way at the last possible second. His back pressed up against Gladio’s. Prompto crowded in in front of him.

Ignis felt strangely alone.

No. Not alone.

Incomplete.

 

Sunlight felt strange. After ten years of night, and even longer of spending his own world in mostly darkness, the impression of light felt strange. But it _was_ hopeful, even as he tilted his head towards the sky and the tears streaked his cheeks. He could hear Prompto’s tiny, gasping sobs at his side. Gladio was _too_ silent.

Ignis was dangerously close to choking on a sob. He held his breath until his lungs ached, until the noise soothed itself out, and then sucked in a sharp inhale. The sunrise was hopeful. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It was one of the worst hurts he had ever felt in his life, and yet it was mixed with the _utmost_ pride for Noctis. For his king. His soulmate.

He swept a thumb over the mark on his wrist, assuredly still there, finally stopped. His next inhale shook. So did his hands. He curled his fingers around his wrist and turned his face fully into the sun.

It was warm on his skin. Like Noctis’s body, his hands, his lips. The press of warmth Ignis had come to know so well, shining down on him now. His heart ached. His heart swelled. He smiled, a tiny thing. Grief would be a lifetime companion, now.

But the sunlight was warm.

Maybe it even felt as if Noctis would never truly be gone.

**Author's Note:**

> also I always put fancy titles on my docs when I'm writing and the font was called 'dawning of a new day' and it's so appropriate I had to add
> 
> I'm so sorry for writing such angst for Christmas lmao


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